


Hannibal Ad Portas

by littlecakes



Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Blood and Gore, Death, F/M, Falling in Love Under the Weirdest Circumstances, Grief/Mourning, Murder, Slow Burn, serial killer au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-06-22 02:25:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15571647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlecakes/pseuds/littlecakes
Summary: The women of Stardew Valley are dying gruesome and mysterious deaths. The worst part? Shane can't stop finding their corpses. It's up to Shane and Penny to hunt down the murderer himself and prove that just because you're fucked up doesn't mean you'll fuck up.





	Hannibal Ad Portas

Snow fell from the sky in dreamy, fluffy flakes, ensconcing the tiny town in a powdery thick coat of white. Light from the ancient lamp posts painted the scene in a gaudy, golden hue. The snow swirled in a lustrous vortex amidst the starry night sky’s dark slate.

The silence that came with the snow was just as sweet as the picturesque scenery. It had a lovely quality about it that absorbed sound and brought a stillness to the town square. There was no clear ending to the paved paths and empty flower beds; instead, everything was white. Pure unadulterated clean ivory, casting its magic power over the village, absorbing all  noise.

Well, nearly everything.

The distinct crunch of the ice underfoot could barely be heard from more than a few feet away; He had the breeze carrying the flakes downward to thank for that. Beautiful, yet deadly, flakes that would coat hair, eyes, fingers… cover everything in a haze of white that would kill if you weren’t careful. Staying out in this weather surely meant frostbite, or worse. He could finish the job with his own two hands. Hopefully he wouldn’t need to rely on nature’s cruelty this time- he had left his last victim to die of hypothermia. She’d looked too much like someone else; colored hair and a smile that stayed, even as she froze. He was left reeling.

_ Not much longer _ , he thought.

The woman staggered through the snow lazily as he followed close behind.. He’d been patient enough to wait until she was good and drunk.  _ What a waste of good booze _ , he thought. Pity she wouldn’t be able to enjoy its effects for much longer.

Waiting until well after she’d left the Saloon before following a short distance behind ensured that no one would know he was around that evening. It had taken him weeks of careful tracking and planning. Night after night, he would stalk her, watching and observing until he found the perfect time. She was the last to leave the bar every night. Gus would lock up behind her, turn out the lights of the bar, and leave her to fend for herself. It was only a short stumble home, after all.

She’d made it ridiculously easy.

He’d been waiting for such a long time. Practice made perfect and he needed this true, first time to be his best. The filthy trash of Zuzu’s druggie population made it easy for him to hone his skills, to experiment on people no one would mourn but the dealers that pumped  poison into their veins. Targeting the lowlifes made for worry-free practice.

_ Bless this snow. It only makes everything more perfect. _ His heart pounded as he followed her across the field, littered with lumps of garbage and old tires covered with perfect mounds of beautiful, virgin white. Keys jingled like bells as she drunkenly struggled with the lock on the aluminum door. His heart jumped in his chest as he heard old metal keys jingling and scratching a metallic tune; it ruined the pristine evening he and the snow had worked so hard to create. Of course, he expected this. The bitch was the poster child of ruin and despair.

He’d watched her long enough to know that.

Fuck, he’d been waiting so long. Too long. His fingers twitched as he relished the thought of closing them around the swollen, alcohol soaked skin of her neck until her patchy, rouge cheeks turned blue. A deep, navy blue would look even more beautiful framed by all this perfect, white snow. His breathing hitched as the thought of scarlet red enhancing it rocked his world even harder than the thought of blue did.

Oh, fate, that sweet mistress.  _ She’s too kind _ , he thought, as the keys hit the surface of the snow and their weight carried them through its depths. His subject swore as she leaned over the creaky steps and toppled over as she tried to reach them. The moonbeams illuminated her crumpled form, which was difficult to see in the low light, as he heard her slur under her breath.

_ These moments never last long enough _ , he thought, as he pulled the empty beer bottle from his pocket and smashed its neck against the wall of the trailer.

More music to his ears that the snow kept secret, just for him. 

A grunt of confusion came as she tried to get to her feet but failed as his steel-toed boot made contact with her ribcage.

“Fuck,” she swore as she cradled her side and fought against the weight of his boot.

As much as he wanted to speak to her, to express his dissent for her very existence, he had to keep quiet. His mask protected his face and his coat shrouded his body, but there was nothing he could do to mask the distinctive baritone of his voice. If worse came to worst, he could run and no one would know the difference. Thankfully, he’d planned and knew that wouldn’t happen tonight. Success was inevitable as he continued pressing his snow-caked shoe into her chest.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” She choked. The weight of his boot was easily preventing her from breathing in. He bit his lip as he smiled. Her words were not-so-vaguely reminiscent of another woman in his life. She’d been dead for a long time; her untimely demise prevented him from fulfilling his deepest desire. 

This one would have to do that for her.

“Please,” she stuttered pleadingly. He obliged, lifting his boot from her chest just enough for her to catch his breath. She pushed his foot off her and staggered to her feet. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

He shrugged before plunging the broken bottle deep in her neck and pushing her face-first into the snow. He was right. Scarlet was an even better compliment to the snow than blue was. It spurted like a firework cascading across the sky, the snow beginning to melt as she bled out. Heavenly steam rose as the viscous, rich fluid sank into it, much like the vapor in his breath did as it curled into the air.

She was perfect now as her voice gurgled to a stop. Thankfully, he pierced her throat just right so she wouldn’t have a chance to speak her final words. 

She didn’t deserve to, anyway. 

Not for the way she reminded him so distinctly of  _ her _ , with her vicious words and strong hands that always beat him into submission. Not this time.  _ Not this time.  _ This time he’d won, his old flag of surrender painted crimson with victory. His heart soared and tears welled in his eyes as he looked down upon the mess he’d made. It wouldn’t be his last win, not after how fucking good it felt to finally be on top.

Shoving his hands deep into his pockets, he hummed Winter Star tunes cheerfully under his breath as he crossed the bridge and walked home, knowing that he snow would cover the evidence of his presence. The roaring hearth at home would take care of the rest.

 

____________________________________________________________________________

 

“Uncle Shane! Uncle Shane!” Jas called as she nudged the sheet-covered lump that was Shane. He groaned as her tiny yet strong hands pushed into the soft flesh of his torso. Her shrill voice alerted him to the headache that pounded through his head.

“Jas… Why are you waking me up so early?” He grumbled pulling his pillow over his head to drown out the sound. Normally, he wouldn’t be so opposed to his niece waking him, but he was ridiculously hung over after his bender the night before. Shane couldn’t help it if Gus made getting plastered so inexpensive.

“It snowed last night! Come look! Come see!”

“I have work, I’m sorry,” he said, turning his alarm clock to find a blank screen. “Shit, who turned off my alarm clock?!”

“Hey, Marnie says swearing’s bad. It’s potty mouth,” Jas giggled.

“Did you turn off my alarm clock?”

“Yes, because it’s six thirty o’clock which means you need to get up, so I decided to wake you up.”

A smile lit up his face. She’d been struggling with telling time at school, so they’d practiced every morning before Shane left for work. “Serious? It’s six thirty?”

“Check your phone!” She said excitedly as she crawled into bed with him and pulled the blankets up to her nose.

“Well, shit. You’re right. Good job, kiddo.”

“Hot chocolate! You promised hot chocolate when I could tell what time it is,” Jas squealed. Shane covered his face and groaned.

“Jeez, I have to buy  _ you _ hot chocolate? Can’t I just buy Charlie hot chocolate?”

“Charlie is a chicken and chickens don’t drink hot chocolate!” Jas complained.

“C’mere, squirt,” Shane chuckled, pulling Jas into his arms and rubbing his knuckles gently into her head. She squealed at an inhuman pitch before shielding her scalp with her tiny fingers, begging Shane to stop.

“After school today we’ll go.”

“Promise you won’t go to the Saloon?”

The words pulled at his heartstrings harder than he would’ve liked. She was his goddaughter, his niece, practically his daughter at this point.  _ Begging shouldn’t be something she has to do to get me to hang out with her _ , he scolded himself. Yet here he was, already lamenting about how he’d miss the sweet taste of malt on his tongue and the tingle in his spine he’d eventually get. Shane would eventually drink that tingle into a blur, a smudge on his memory of the evening.

Like he did every evening.

“Yes, I’ll come straight home after work,” he said, giving her a hug before nudging her off the bed. “Now go, scoot. Get ready for school.”

Jas cheered loudly as she left his bedroom, much to his displeasure. The frequency of her voice sent his headache spinning into migraine territory. As the signature sunspots began flaring up in his vision, he reached far under his bed to find a glass bottle, filled with clear liquid, one that would save him from this horrible impending hangover. 

He could hear her jabbering to Marnie about their afternoon plans as he inspected his dwindling supply. Shane had purchased the fifth of vodka a couple days ago, but its contents had already been drunk below the bottom edge of the label. There might be enough left for tonight if he could swing it, but that would mean not drinking this morning instead… the spots forming in his vision, warning him of the impending hangover, indicated otherwise.

The silky sweet texture of the vodka kissed his tongue as he tilted his head back. He’d been long accustomed to the spirit’s bitter flavor, but he always enjoyed the mouthfeel. Beer was his go-to when he had to pick something to drink in front of other people, but in the comfort of his room with its lack of judgemental eyes and memory, he could partake in something stronger.

Draining the bottle, Shane sighed contentedly and tucked the empty vessel away in his closet to hide with its other fallen brethren. He’d have to take them out soon; thankfully, Pierre’s recycling bin was on his way to work, and the busy shopkeeper either never looked when he took out his garbage, or he didn’t care that Shane chose to shamefully hide the evidence of his addiction in his bin.

“Shane, breakfast,” Marnie called from the kitchen.

“Just need a minute,” Shane called before the bitterness of the vodka rose in his throat. Fuck if he’d throw up that precious liquid gold; he didn’t have any more and wasn’t about to suffer through a shift at Joja hung over and sober. He knew he didn’t have the heart to make it through the day without his crutch, so he breathed deeply and slowly, hunched over the wastebin in the corner of his room, until the sensation passed. Shane dressed himself in his normal work uniform before popping a breath mint in his mouth from the shoddy tin he kept in his pocket.

Drink, dress, disguise, rinse and repeat. It was just another day.

“Good morning, Shane,” Marnie said as she stood at the stove, stirring some scrambled eggs in an old cast iron pan. She was still dressed in her robe, its long sleeves rolled up over her elbows. Little holes had worn in the fabric where she’d rolled them up day in and day out over the same creases. The circles under her eyes looked darker than normal and her braid was somewhat disheveled. Perhaps she’d had a night much like Shane’s. He cringed as he pondered what- or who- could have kept her up late enough to help her unkempt appearance.

“Hey,” he grunted as he poured himself a cup of coffee and dropped two slices of her homemade sourdough in their ancient toaster. It would do a fine job of soaking up the acid that had built up in his stomach. He needed to work on that, and quickly; if he called out from work again because of a hangover, Morris would have his head.

Jas could be heard playing in her room as Shane took a seat at the kitchen table with a groan. His whole body hurt like he’d done a thorough workout. It was his liver’s way of saying, “fuck you”. He’d certainly earned the sentiment. 

If he kept going the way he was, someday he’d wake up with that pain and it would never leave, and his skin would yellow and his body would swell before the doctor told him it was cirrhosis and liver failure and Jas would cry and Marnie would sadly say she saw it coming-

The bile assaulted his esophagus in a guerilla attack and Shane knew it couldn’t be fought this time. Shane rose from the table rapidly and ran to the bathroom, barely lifting the lid of his porcelain god before making his offering of a bite of hardly-chewed toast and bile that reeked of vodka. It burned his nasal passages and throat even after its unsightly exit from his innards.

“You’ll kill yourself if you keep drinking this way, Shane,” Marnie said quietly as she leaned against the door frame. She’d followed him to witness his shame, of course. He could hear the clink of the spoon as it hit the ceramic coffee cup she held in her hands. He wiped his mouth on a shred of toilet paper before pulling himself to his feet and flushing. Shane didn’t look at her. He couldn’t. That face, brokenhearted and disappointed, would smash whatever constitution he’d built up to help him deal with the day, and he just had to flush most of that constitution down the toilet.

“Shane,” she said pleadingly, grasping the shoulder of his tattered hoodie as he tried to push past her in the doorway. Biting his lip and frowning, he looked at her out the corner of his eye. He wasn’t wrong. The look was there, and boy, did it sting. He quickly looked away before pulling out of her grip.

“We just love you.” She said, following him as he slathered a pat of butter on the remaining toast and pouring his cup of coffee in the blue travel mug with a faded J on the side.

“It hurts us to see you hurt, Shane,” Marnie continued as he pulled a beanie on and stepped into his work boots. Her gentle hand held his wrist below the cuff of his jacket, her skin warm and touch affectionate. “If you would just get some help-”

“Marnie,” he pleaded, looking her in the eye to find desperation and pain. He’d caused that, he knew it, and he hated himself for it. Being a worthless piece of shit was his forte, his mastered skill, and it hurt the people around him. Shane didn’t know what else to do besides drink and live, day in, day out.

Other than quit living day in, day out, that is, but that just wasn’t an option. Not with Jas, so young and impressionable, with her father in prison. Marnie needed him too; he didn’t think she would do well on her own, especially after acclimating to having them there for nearly two years of cohabitation. The women of his life leaned on him just as much as he did them. It was a vicious cycle of hurt that all three of them seemed to be trapped in. The line had blurred between choice and necessity at this point.

The alcohol made existing so much easier. He could spend a whole afternoon blitzed out of his mind, not having to think about his past or future. Shane could just exist, which is exactly what he needed to keep doing. He wondered how he’d exist today as the migraine that lurked in the shadows was threatening to come to light. If he left soon, he could swing by the general store and get something to fill his flask before leaving for work.

“Not now. Not today, Marnie,” Shane murmured under his breath as he broke her cautious grip on his wrist. “I can’t… I’m sorry. I’ll pick up Jas from school today, so don’t worry about it.”

“Shane-”

“I’ll see you later,” Shane murmured quietly, staring at the floor as he opened the door and the chill rushed in to nip at his nose and cheeks. He stepped out into the white blur as he closed the door quickly behind him before Marnie could interject. Shane’s goal now was to get to work and just survive the day. The way his brain pulsed right behind his eyes and deep into its core promised it would be a tough one.

The snow was deep that morning. Each step sent his boots sinking deep below its glittering surface until he was nearly knee-deep in it.  _ Cherry on top of the fucking cake _ , he thought to himself as he trudged along. Shane’s body and mind punished him with each step he took. His stomach swam, head ached, and mind raced with hateful thoughts.

Normally on a day like this, he would cut through the plaza to the general store. The bells chiming over his head as he entered Pierre’s shop would jingle their jaunty tune as they mocked him.  _ He’s here again, he’s here again, _ they would sing. He would turn right as soon as he entered and make his way to the back corner where Pierre kept a small selection of spirits. After grabbing a fifth of vodka, he would have a wordless exchange with Pierre and be on his way, bells teasing him again on his way out.

He stopped at the juncture in the old stone path. The two choices seemed simple: either he could go to Pierre’s, grab a fifth, and stave off his hangover until it dissipated, or he could struggle through his shift at work, miserable and sober. It seemed like an easy decision until he remembered the promise he’d made Jas just minutes ago. There was no way he was going to drink at work and then be able to hang out with her. Drinking days at work normally made him catatonic.

She would live if he bailed, right? Jas was young. Surely something would come up today that might even make her forget that he’d even made her promises. That’s what he told himself, anyway, as he took a step in the direction of the salvation he so desperately craved. She was only….

Wait. How old was she?

“Fuck,” he swore under her breath. He really was a piece of shit. His brain was so petrified by his years of drinking that he was already forgetting shit. They really did deserve better than him, Jas and Marnie. Jas deserved a family that would love her and remember when her goddamn birthday was. If he could just end it and put all of them out of their misery...

No. He couldn’t. Not when she’d already lost a parent. The way he was living wasn’t doing her any favors, though. He would suffer today, and suffer for her. She deserved that much, at least. Shane sighed before changing direction and making his way south of Lewis’ house and old truck. The snow here hadn’t fallen as densely as it did in the forest, probably because of all the buildings catching the snowfall on their eaves.

An enormous black mass had gathered on the snow in front of Pam and Penny’s shoddy trailer. It twitched and moved erratically as light rippled across its surface, moving as if it were made of dozens of tiny bodies. Shane rubbed his bleary eyes with the back of his hands as he walked tentatively towards it. It burst overhead, black feathers scattering in the breeze at his approach. Ravens. A few members of the murder were particularly brave, continuing to perch on the mass of pink revealed by their flight.

The hair on the back of Shane’s neck prickled as he approached. There was something familiar about that pink fabric… he’d seen it before, somewhere. Something was here before the birds, something with teeth and strong will. There were huge tears in the fabric where the birds had gone to work. The fabric itself was sprinkled with rusty brown spots all over the back. The last of the crows flew away as Shane finally reached the pink mass.

Shane carefully lifted the hood of what he now knew was a jacket. A mess of dirty blonde curls peeked out from under it. It was a very familiar jacket… one that he saw every single night of his life for the past two years. Dread began building up in his chest, twisting around his heart like a spring waiting to pop. The curls were coated in ice where moisture had collected and frozen there. Shane’s fingers were trembling as he realized what he was witnessing.

“Pam?” he whispered. Maybe she was asleep… face down in the snow. Dear god, he hoped she was asleep, passed out drunk in the snow like the slob she was. Like  _ they _ were. He wouldn’t be surprised if someday Marnie or Jas would find him like this outside the ranch. “Pam. Get up. Goddamnit, you couldn’t even make it fucking home.”

There was no response. Her body was oddly still for someone who was sleeping. Maybe she had hypothermia after sleeping in the snow all night. A sense of urgency gripped him tightly as he shook her shoulder. “Pam. Pam, get up.  _ Get up.” _ He had had enough of waiting for her to come around and rolled her over.

“Fuck, goddamn!” he cried, scrambling away from her body. Pam’s eyes, frozen open, were encrusted in tendrils of ice that littered their surface. Her skin was a blue that paled in comparison to the deep navy of her lips. The ice that he noticed on her eyes had covered most of her skin. She had been there all night- he remembered her paying her tab last night at the Saloon when he left- and _ oh god _ , as his eyes wandered he wished more than anything he’d decided to drink and give in rather than be brave and try sobriety for once.

No amount of bravery on his part was going to help him unsee the bottle sticking out from her neck at an odd angle. No liquor would erase the sticky mess of blood that clung to the clothes and skin like paint. Shane had never seen so much of it at once before. Bloody fingerprints dotted the bottle’s surface where Pam had obviously struggled with it before her end. The glass bottle, illuminated by the sun, cast a green shadow over Pam’s skin and face, making the blood there a sickly color.

Shane closed his eyes as tightly as he could, clutching at his middle as he looked away from her corpse. His hands shook uncontrollably as he clutched the tattered fabric of his hoodie. The nausea he’d worked so hard to fight back down rose up again and this time he didn’t bother to fight it as he spilled bile across the snow. Sputtering and coughing, he gasped for breath between dry heaves. A sob rocked his chest.

The door of the trailer swung open. “Hello? Shane-”

Penny’s eyes fell upon her mother’s corpse and the color of her face faded immediately from her skin.

“Mom…”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Toast_42 for the hard work you put into beta-ing this story.
> 
> Thanks to you for reading it!


End file.
